


it's about the pillows (no he's not talking about anything else)

by luxeberries



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sleepy Cuddles, a short one this time..... about.. pillows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxeberries/pseuds/luxeberries
Summary: The pillows are really shit. They're thin, and off white, and stained, and musty, and scratchy, and the fabric rustles under his ear everytime he shifts and frankly, that's getting on his nerves, but he can't stop tossing because the pillow is shit.-[insert that one meme from parks and rec] its about.. the pillows.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	it's about the pillows (no he's not talking about anything else)

**Author's Note:**

> just.. a drabble about pillows.... (nothing else, absolutely nothing else... geralt isn't in denial about... anything.....)

The pillows are really shit. They're thin, and off-white, and stained, and musty, and scratchy, and the fabric rustles under his ear everytime he shifts and frankly, that's getting on his nerves, but he can't stop tossing because the pillow is shit. And there's this itch in his hair at the nape of his neck and it's so irritating that he may as well just ditch the pillow entirely because he'd get the same amount of comfort on the bare mattress. This isn't even the worst pillow he's slept on. Some, he has actually just ditched onto the floor in favour of the mattress. It's not like he has any right to complain, either. The innkeeper had traded the room for a favour, which was just a contract for some noonwraiths, and she'd even paid him the coin that was due! So essentially, he'd been paid to sleep in this room (the noonwraiths were nothing, practically just a twig in his path), and now he's complaining about the fucking _pillows._

They are shit though.

He should be used to it. Not all inns are good, not all the food is actually edible, not all of their nights are spent indoors (in fact, it's been less and less lately: they need to move on further south for more contracts), and not all days are good. Travelling with a witcher isn't always good. In fact, a lot of the time, it's like the pillow under Geralt's head. Lacking.

And yet, there's Jaskier - sleeping soundly in this small, shared bed, with his content face smushed against the pillow, arms reaching closer to Geralt even in the summer heat. Geralt's finger twitches where it's rested on his chest. He sighs and scrubs his face, rougher than he should, rough enough that Jaskier would scold him, tell him, _"You're going to wrinkle your face up!",_ even though his forehead already has a permanent line across it. Jaskier looks younger than ever. His eyes- they've aged, not with telltale crow's feet, but with wisdom. Distantly, he wonders if Jaskier's eyes will ever wrinkle. With all the smiling and laughing he does, one would think the lines would be well carved.

One would also think that Jaskier would have put this whole adventuring thing to rest and have settled down, started a family, bought a house. Why hasn't he? No, he's asking. Why does he still put up with this, with scratchy pillows, when he could have the finest of silks?

Jaskier shifts in his sleep, rustling the sheets, and his eyes open blearily as he takes in a deep breath. Geralt's heart skips a beat, and for a second he thinks it stopped entirely. "Geralt," Jaskier mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eye, "Can't sleep?" Geralt hums, too worried he'll break the quiet atmosphere with his rumbling voice. Jaskier hums back. Twisting to lay his head on Geralt's chest, Jaskier slings his arm over Geralt's belly and clutches his shirt. Geralt stays _very_ still as Jaskier nuzzles his forehead against his chest, mutters, "Pillows are shit," and falls asleep. Then, Geralt wraps his arm around Jaskier, and holds him closer. His other hand moves to Jaskier's hair. Carefully, so very carefully, he brushes his fingers through the soft brown locks. Jaskier mumbles and shifts in his sleep, but he doesn't wake, and Geralt carries on.

The pillow is still shit, but the warmth and weight of Jaskier makes it easier to sleep.


End file.
